Genuine Elegance
by The Babel Fish
Summary: She wasn't always so intimidating. She wasn't always a Captain either. Obviously. Unohana Retsu, from beginning to end.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I, of The Great And Terrible Stick Figures, do not own Bleach. Be grateful.

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><p>She gets up slowly, wincing at the bruises over her back and her stiff joints. How long has she been lying here? She checks herself over. Head, eyes, mouth, nose, hair, arms, legs, ears, ten fingers, ten toes, all are where they should be. But where was she? She had never seen houses as bad as these, or streets so dusty. At least, that's what she thinks. She can't remember anything, except her name, her age, that she is dead and that this is a place called Rukongai. Not impressive. She scrunches her eyes and frowns in irritation, trying to recall some detail, some tiny fragment of her human life. She blinks twice, shrugs, picks a direction and begins to walk away from the barren land she woke up in.<p>

* * *

><p>She doesn't stop walking for days, until she is close to collapsing from hunger. Can spirits be hungry?<p>

* * *

><p>She sits, her bony spine pressed to the wall of wooden slats that makes the back of the alleyway, and surveys her surroundings in tired acceptance. She eats the apple she picked from the garden on the other side of the fence slowly, savouring it. Tasting the sharp tang of the fruit on her tongue, she is grateful that the apples are green and sour, and not red and sickeningly sweet, but she knows that even if they were red, she'd still eat them. Beggars can't be choosers. She remembers the house that the garden belongs to, and the gleaming surfaces inside, the hot water tap, the cupboards lining the walls. She imagines them stuffed with food and pots and pans, gently rounded wooden spoons and metal ones too, that would shine in the sunlight. She shakes her head to dispel the hunger-inducing images. Noting that the houses have been of better and better quality along her random route, she decides to stay here, at least while the apple trees are in fruit.<p>

* * *

><p>She breaks a stick off one of the trees and takes it back to the alleyway. She sits and begins to scratch in the dust, the point of the stick parting the dirt to form kanji in its wake. Her name first, over and over, until the strokes are as perfect as she can get them without a brush, or even a pen. She writes out all the kanji she knows next and finally, practices writing out sentences, until she falls asleep, stick still in hand, surrounded by lines of script stretching out around her.<p>

She mumbles in her sleep that night, repeating in her head strokes of kanji, imagining the sharpness of black ink against a white page and dreaming up intricate, complex sentences to practice the next day.

* * *

><p>She gets hungrier and hungrier as the apples grow fewer and fewer and she leaves her alleyway less often. It is humid and filthy and horribly damp and as she stands to get another apple, the dull ache in the pit of her stomach sharpens and she moans aloud for the first time.<p>

* * *

><p>When the season is over, she gets up to start walking again, her pace slowed down by the pain. But she has barely set a foot into the sun-lit road when she trips over a pair of feet and crashes clumsily to the ground, half-eaten apple, which was in her pocket and intended as her evening meal, in the dirt. She lifts her head a fraction, glaring as indignantly as possible at the idiot who tripped her up, when she sees him picking up her apple. She panics – <em>that's the only food she has <em>– and cries out, mostly in protest, but also in pain. His head snaps back to her and he hears him, asking for her name. She moans in response, burying her face into the dirt so that he won't hear her. He's louder now, the insistent baboon. She turns her head a fraction, to speak, faltering a little. It's been so long since her own name was on her lips.

'Unohana Retsu. My name is Unohana Retsu.'

She strains her neck to see better, but doesn't manage to see his face before she blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I have as good a chance of owning it as the Heart of Gold rearranging the Earth's continents to write out '42' and 'DON'T PANIC' on the Earth's surface.

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><p><em>She turns her head a fraction, to speak, faltering a little. It's been so long since her own name was on her lips.<em>

_'Unohana Retsu. My name is Unohana Retsu.'_

_She strains her neck to see better, but doesn't manage to see his face before she blacks out._

* * *

><p>Once he's put her in the bed, the shinigami turns to leave. At the doorway, he pauses and looks back at the girl, curled up defensively under the stark white duvet, the fluffy white clouds of material obscuring all of her body but a lock of hair, one eye, the tip of a nose and a tightly clenched hand. He sees the matted lock of hair, the dirt embedded under the nails and the delicate bones of the hand, prominent against the skin and is angry for a moment that nobody, including himself, noticed the massive amounts of reiatsu radiating from the tiny girl.<p>

He turns and leaves.

* * *

><p>When she wakes up, she feels strange. There's something soft under her side and under her head and draped all round her too. She realizes she's in a bed and blinks once, unused to the comforting sensation of cool material against her cheek. She sits up and stares at the food on the table next to her and only when she is on her last bite of the thick hunk of bread and pleasantly warm soup does she notice the woman standing at the foot her bed.<p>

She isn't in the least embarrassed, the woman notes with amusement, and meets the challenging look of the brown-haired girl sitting in the bed.

'Would you like some more?'

She blinks once, twice, a small look of surprise coming over her face, and silently shakes her head.

'Well, then.' The woman says, 'As of next week, you will be enrolled in the Academy, in order to become a shinigami. Do you know what a shinigami is?'

The girl nods. She does know what a shinigami is. Anyone who has spent time on the streets of Rukongai worth their salt knows what a shinigami is. Since they are rarely seen, they are mostly viewed with an odd mixture of fear, suspicion and grudging respect. The girl remembers the snatches of whispered conversations and nods again, more firmly.

The woman looks mildly relieved, and informs her to be prepared to move later on in the day. The girl looks a little bewildered, but manages to make a soft sound of agreement just before the woman abruptly exits the room, the black material of her clothes sweeping out behind her.

* * *

><p>She doesn't have anything to take with her when a different woman in black comes along, and obediently walks behind the woman to a corridor with many doors. The woman opens the door and shows her inside. She is then told, in a barrage of information rattled off in a rapid stream, that this room and all its contents are to be hers for as long as she is in the Academy, five sets of uniform are arranged for her, she is expected to do her own cleaning and laundry, she will be supplied with cleaning materials to do so, any clothes alterations will be done by the school tailor, who will also provide her with new uniforms when (or if) she outgrows her current ones, she will be given all necessary books, textbooks and practice swords in class, and that she is to be paid each month, and the money she receives is to provide her with her food and necessities. She names an amount.<p>

She sways at this last one, and the woman moves slightly, as if to catch her if she falls. She doesn't, and asks if this is all a big mistake, because it doesn't make sense to her; why is she being paid to have a room of her own?

The woman chuckles and tells her that she is being paid because she is now in Shinōreijutsuin, Seireitei, and that she is now a valuable tool. She is being paid for her services, not out of pity or compassion.

The girl nods as if she expects no less, and asks if there will be some sort of test. The woman looks at her strangely and says yes, there is a test – but she has to be able to read and do mathematics for that. The girl looks up at the woman and says that yes, she can read, so please could she do the test?

The woman looks bemused by now, and agrees to arrange it for tomorrow. She tells the girl that the rest of the day is hers, to wash, change, sort out her room as she likes, and walks out of the door, shaking her head, and looks back at the strange girl who is now touching the desk with a single finger, as if afraid that it might crumble beneath her hands.

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><p>She <em>is<em> afraid that it might crumble beneath her hands. She pauses in the centre, gazing disbelievingly at her surroundings. Palatial, in comparison to her alleyway. A bed, complete with mattress. A tall cupboard. A three-drawer chest. A small bookcase. A desk with a few drawers. A chair. A clock, ticking softly. A bedside table. An oil lamp. The room is warm. She walks across the room to touch a pipe and feels the heat. She tiptoes through a door to her left and finds herself in a bathroom, with a shower, toilet, and basin, with hot and cold taps. She approaches the basin hesitantly and turns on the hot tap. She sticks a finger under the running water and feels the hot water and watches the water turn grey from the washed-off dirt. She washes her hands three times with soap and hot water and finds a small towel in the cupboard overhead. She frowns in annoyance at the small wooden block she has to stand on to reach the cupboard's handle and winces at how dirty she must be.

She is careful, on her way to the tall cupboard, to not touch anything with anything other than her hands. Taking a skirt and a shirt from one of the uniforms in the cupboard, she retreats to the bathroom.

Locking the door, she washes her underwear first, and lays it on the pipes that run round the room. She steps unto the shower and washes herself and her hair, once, twice, until the bathroom fills with steam and the mirror clouds up. A little slice of heaven.

* * *

><p>As the rest of the day passes, she ventures out of her room, carefully locking it each time and slipping the metal key into the deep pocket and zipping it closed. She keeps feeling her side for the bumps and ridges of the key and its handle and staring at the clean walls and gleaming balustrades and she knows she looks strange but doesn't care.<p>

* * *

><p>She finds the tailor, dressed in an apron with a needle and thread in his hands, surrounded by dangerously tall and unsteady piles of clothes. As he gets up and turns her around to take her measurements, she sees that he has strands of thread hanging from his head, all black and white, contrasting against his auburn hair. She also sees, with a mix of amusement and alarm, that he has stuck needles into his ponytail, some long, intimidating and pointy, and some small, rusty and dull. All have threads attached. She points them out to him, and he peers in the mirror with a mystified look on his face. He turns to thank her, and in freeing the appropriate hand, sticks the needle in his hair again.<p>

She gives it up as a lost case, thanks him in return for the piles of items he has given her, bows as best as she can with a massive heap of material in her arms, and leaves.

She thinks she has never been so lucky. She's got proper sandals on her feet now, a sewing kit, some soap to wash her clothes with, pyjamas – 'jammies', the tailor called them, but she's sure they're called pyjamas – and three pairs of white socks.

* * *

><p>She finds the nurse, a thin woman, gaunt and scary. She shows her how to use the washing machines, how to use the cleaning supplies for her room, how to apply plasters, and she gives her some ointment for her cuts and scrapes.<p>

She finds a clerk and politely asks if she could please have some money from her wages for food, and an account book, and does he know by any chance how much things cost in Seireitei? The clerk nods after a while, and agrees to help, looking as if nobody's ever said please and thank you to him before, or bowed to him first, and that's because nobody ever has, not to a lowly clerk in the midst of all these shinigami.

She finds the canteen, following the smells through the corridors, and hands over some money at the till. When the man hands her some money back, she looks confused, until he explains the concept of change to her. She realizes that keeping an account book for her money is going to be a lot harder than she originally planned. She walks back to her room – _her room_ – and spends the rest of the day doing calculations.

* * *

><p>The girl scrambles into her pyjamas and clambers into bed at 7.42 in the evening, when it gets dark outside her window. She lies awake, flat on her back, legs outstretched, fingers curled into the blankets on top of her. She closes her eyes.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I do, however, own a very large plate of cookies. Well, I did. My stomach owns them now.

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><p>The next day, the first rays of sunlight fall across her face and she wakes, but doesn't open her eyes. She hasn't forgotten where she is. Remembering the test, she hastily gets up and gets dressed. By the time a man comes to fetch her, she is shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind.<p>

* * *

><p>After the test, she's taken to the clerk again, who smiles, congratulates her – <em>for what?<em> – and gives her a bundle of money, which she nearly drops in shock. The woman who showed her to her room yesterday is with her again, and she laughs this time, throwing her head back. She picks up the money and informs her that she is going out into Seireitei, to get the other things she needs.

'I don't need anything!'

'Oh, really? What about a toothbrush? Toothpaste? One roll of loo roll won't last you very long. Another towel? And bed sheets? Pillowcases? A comb wouldn't do her any harm. Clothes too. You can't walk around in your uniform all the time. Underwear? Books? Shampoo? Conditioner? Soap? A water canteen? A pencil case? Pens? Pencils? Paper? Folders? Rulers, compasses, bags, brushes, ink, calligraphy sets, all have to be bought. Snacks as well – food in the canteen isn't expensive, but food from outside is a bit cheaper, and you might like it better too.'

She takes this to mean that she's passed the test, and smiles.

Then she takes in what the woman has said and gulps audibly. She wonders how much her arms will ache from carrying all the bags.

* * *

><p>Loud. The Academy is loud. The corridors are filled with people laughing, talking with friends. And the top class is no different, although the conversation is less exuberant...and somewhat subdued by all the textbooks piled on the table in front of them?<p>

Retsu looks around, bemused, and quietly slips into a desk at the back which also has a pile of textbooks, and, for the first time in her life (that she can remember, anyway) is immediately enraged. Because she can't see over the behemoth pile of said textbooks.

* * *

><p>The work isn't too hard in the top class. Challenging, but not even close to what she had been dreading. She plops herself down on her bed after eating lunch in her room and sighs in complete contentment. She smiles a little, and impulsively grabs the textbook closest to her, hugs it to her chest, and closes her eyes. After sitting like that for a few moments, she remembers her next class in ten minutes, and rushes to get ready, throwing books in a bag and straightening her uniform.<p>

She gets to the class five minutes early, takes her customary seat at the back, and waits. Soon enough, a frazzled, frantic, slightly crazed-looking girl sprints through the door, nearly knocking the unfortunate teacher off his feet and makes a mad dash for the seat next to her. She dumps her heavy bag on the table next to Retsu with a loud _thunk_ and grins at her madly as she unloads its contents. Once she's unpacked enough books to shield her whole torso from the view of Sensei, she promptly falls asleep.

Retsu wonders if the girl is storing a whole library in that seemingly _tiny_ bag of hers, and if so, could she possibly borrow a few?

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><p>Since Sensei is so deaf that an earthquake could hit Seireitei and he still wouldn't stop mumbling about quadratic equations, she prods Library Bag Girl awake and holds a whispered conversation with her.<p>

Library Bag Girl turns out to be in every class Retsu has, and as it turns out, her name isn't 'Library Bag Girl', but Hikifune Kirio, and she's new too. She too, has had strange women and men come up to her, tell her things and then swish out before she could open her mouth. She too, had woken up in Rukongai, and had been found by shinigami. So Retsu knows she isn't the only one not to have been born in Seireitei. She liked to eat, sleep and read, not always in that order. Her hair was naturally that messy, damnit. Her eyes were the darkest shade of brown (boring). She wished she had Retsu-chan's eyes (so nice and big and blue). Her favourite colour was, as a coincidence, blue. Not the awful shades of teal that people call blue, the colour-blind, duck-butt idiots – but the real blues, the sky blues and the ocean blues and the midnight-sky blues. She stayed in the room two doors down from Retsu. Having had this conversation, she promptly falls asleep again.

Retsu faithfully takes notes for the rest of the lesson. When the bell rings and it becomes apparent that Hikifune-san is not going to wake up by her own accord any time soon, she packs up her bag tidily, sorting out the inside while she's at it – _so messy_ – and gently shakes her awake. The spiky-haired girl blinks groggily, and looks down sheepishly at her stomach, which rumbles in response.

Retsu smiles, and extracts from her bag a small packet of chocolate biscuits.

Hikifune-san frowns, and tells Retsu-chan to stop calling her Hikifune-san (that's for old people, she wasn't old yet) and to call her Kirio.

And the friendship is born.

* * *

><p>Of course, they are not without their differences. Where Kirio sleeps, Retsu takes notes. Retsu likes ikebana and climbing the hills around the Academy, while Kirio most emphatically does not, and only tags along to the ikebana classes half-heartedly. She avoids the climbing trips entirely. Where Retsu is all tranquillity and peace, Kirio is crazy. She's got a Demon Glare Of Death™, a savage right hook, and when she wants to really freak people out and send them running for the hills, she smiles a manic, demented, murderess-worthy smile. She talks in her sleep, mumbling things about 10001 Ways To Kill Alarm Clocks™, scolding desks, pillows and lampshades for their repeated impertinences towards her stuffed toy collection, and mixing chocolate and marshmallows together and putting it on cabbage and barbecuing it and it tasting <em>good<em>.

The last one is categorized firmly as a nightmare.

Disturbing imaginations aside, the two girls do have a few things in common. Both of them like swimming, reading, and green apples. Both sit at the back of classrooms and both are not particularly sociable – although for different reasons: Retsu's too shy to be talkative, and people mostly stay well away from Kirio. So soon enough, they become inseparable, (barring the climbing trips) and although Kirio does mostly sleep through classes, she actually learns things, and keeps up quite well.

* * *

><p>At the end of the first month, it is announced that evaluations will be held of all the new students, and from this, class rankings will be drawn. This sends the new students into a working frenzy, and even Kirio doesn't sleep as much, shocking Retsu, the class and the teacher with her state of consciousness in class. They are shocked into silence when she gives the right answer, worded articulately, instead of the usual shrugsnore/mumblings on wardrobes and their eating habits.

However, after the exams, what shocks the class and the teacher even more, is to see _Unohana Retsu _emblazoned in crimson red at the head of a long list of black-printed names, with _Hikifune Kirio_ following directly after.

Some people sneer and think it's a fluke, and that they won't be there next time. But as the year rolls on, and as the two names are consistently up there, sometimes Kirio's in red, sometimes Retsu's, people begin to notice the two girls at the back, one asleep and one taking diligent notes.

Even Ginrei Kuchiki, who has the kind of stoic face that wouldn't be fazed even if Captain-Commander Yamamoto wore a pink tutu, put ribbons in his hair and danced the cancan in front of him, starts speaking to the girls, and even asks Retsu to help him understand some of the more complicated points of shinigami history.

* * *

><p>At the beginning of the next term, they are given wooden practice swords for the first time, and must take one specialist class a week. Retsu looks at the noticeboard, and notes that most girls have signed up for calligraphy – a weird choice, she'd have thought they'd go for ikebana – but then, Ginrei Kuchiki's name is heading the list. She sighs at the folly of womankind, looks to the literature list, and smiles when she sees Kirio's hurried scrawl across the top slot. She scans the others. <em>Photography...Music...Art...Drama...Ikebana<em>. She considers it, but then remembers the lunchtime club she attends, and decides to take on something more useful. She catches sight of a tiny slip of paper which has no names on it, assigned to the bottom left hand corner, where is almost hidden by the open door. _Healing. _She signs her name because there is nothing else that she wants to do, and besides, it might come in useful someday.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

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><p>There is no board. There are no desks. There are no textbooks, exercise books, or writing or teaching materials of any kind. The single chair has three and a half legs. The ceiling looks as if it is about to collapse. Retsu is fairly sure this is a storage area for practice swords – mainly because there are practice swords in various states of decay, ranging from shattered to annihilated, scattered everywhere – on hooks on the walls, on the floor. She is the only student. And to top it all off, the teacher is a gibbering idiot who can't string two coherent words together to save his life. She isn't even sure if he's a teacher.<p>

Too late to change now.

Bugger.

* * *

><p>At the very least, there's a section on Healing in the library. Yes, it's shoved to the dustiest, darkest corner there is, and yes, the entire section consists of an infinitesimal bookcase that isn't even close to being half-full, but it's something. Retsu's pretty happy that there <em>is<em> something – judging from the 'class' she just had, she wouldn't have been surprised if there was just a big empty hole where the Healing section was meant to be.

She takes out all the books she can carry, and heads for her room, arms looped round several intimidatingly hefty tomes.

She forgets to eat and sleep for the next thirty-six hours, and only remembers when Kirio pokes her head in and asks her what the hell she thinks she's doing.

* * *

><p>The first time she practices is on a large paper cut on her right thumb. It's a little tricky, because she's right-handed, but she manages to seal it. She frowns; it took far too long, too much effort, and there's a faint scar visible. There aren't meant to be scars for <em>paper cuts<em>, of all things; there's going to be far worse injuries than stupid _paper cuts_, for goodness' sake, she can't afford to find a paper cut hard if this is really going to amount to anything.

She works hard at it, and as the months roll on, Retsu barely sleeps; she gets thinner and paler; she begins to run on caffeine. She and Kirio move faster and faster through the Academy, outstripping their classmates.

Except for Kuchiki, the twat, with his smug grin and arrogant, conceited bastard, I'm-so-much-richer-than-you-and-we-both-know-it attitude, who manages to keep up. But no matter how much damage she does to her internal body clock, Kuchiki never gets ahead of her, and Retsu's intense, fragile pride remains intact.

* * *

><p>In their first attack on a Hollow, both Kirio and she get injured. Not fatally, but bad enough for Kirio to lose consciousness and to be in danger of losing too much blood and bad enough for herself to scream in agony and try to clutch her shoulder and leg at the same time.<p>

It isn't a pleasant thought, accepting your death.

But then a coldly analytical voice in her head reminds her in harsh ringing tones that she has been studying healing for the past two years; that she should have learned enough by now to not be a nitwit with chickpeas for brains when it comes to a situation like this; that she's been accelerated through the Academy with the girl lying eight feet away, who is the best friend she's ever had; and that she should get a _freaking_ move on. Preferably today.

She promptly does so, and proceeds to heal Kirio before attending to herself, hands shaking from the exertion of the intensive healing on the field, eyes blinking to clear her vision of tears from the exhaustion, pain, sweat and blood.

She lets her eyes flicker shut the moment her wounds have fully healed, and hopes the Hollow won't find them before the backup shinigami do.

She hears the sounds of other shinigami yelling and she feels reiatsu flaring as shikai are released.

Her last thought is that they should _really_ check the Hollow type before they send out _Academy students_ to deal with them.

* * *

><p>Retsu wants her penultimate day at the Academy to be quiet and peaceful.<p>

Not so.

At 10.30am precisely, Retsu heads for Room 412, as instructed by her teacher. She knocks, and receives no reply. Retsu goes inside, expecting to be greeted by a chair and a waiting test paper, or a flyswatter and a mop, or something. Instead, it is the pleasant sight of a faded red armchair, a low, wooden coffee table and a black, shining couch, and on a more intimidating note, a large Hell Butterfly in the corner. It doesn't make for her, and the rest of the cavernous room is empty and stark white. She looks round, and seeing nobody, heads for the armchair.

"Not there please!"

Retsu jumps up in shock, and a poker-faced woman promptly settles herself on the vacated armchair, organizing a notepad and pen on her lap. Where did she come from?

"You can lie down on the couch."

Retsu, not wanting to argue with a woman who can apparently appear and disappear at will, does so, concealing her nervousness with a poker-face that isn't quite as good.

"This is your Shinigami Psychological Evaluation Test. Depending on your answers, I will decide your position after you leave the Academy. You may be placed in the Gotei 13, the Onmitsukidō, or the Kidō Corps. You have no say in the matter. You are to answer all my questions honestly and in full detail. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, then. We will begin. Your name?"

"Unohana Retsu."

"Do you believe yourself to be insane?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you taking any medication for any ailments?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you, or have you ever been depressed and/or suicidal?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you, or have you ever been pregnant?"

Retsu blinks in surprise. How does this have anything to do with a psychological evaluation test? Can shinigami _be_ pregnant? The poker-faced woman's expression is blank. Retsu, naturally, doesn't miss a beat.

"No, ma'am."

And so it continues. Retsu is asked every question imaginable. Favourite colours and foods, moral dilemmas, relationships, friends, strengths, weaknesses, military tactics, problem-solving, mathematics, general knowledge, literacy, intelligence, mental state, ambitions, reading preferences, clothing preferences, learning style, health habits, eating habits, behavioural habits, facial expressions, body language.

This rapid-fire questioning carries on for hours, the questions at random, abruptly skipping from one topic to another with no links or common factors, and then swerving back. The effect is quite unnerving.

"All right. That's it. End of questioning." The large Hell Butterfly twitches in the corner. _Has it been recording me this whole time?_

The woman stands, and Retsu scrambles to her feet, hopping gratefully off the sleep-inducing couch. Poker-face Lady hands her a slip of paper, folded over, and wishes her good luck for the future. Is that a crack of a smile? She swishes out and the sound of her shoes padding down the hallway prompts Retsu to start walking herself. She ambles back to her room, happy to have wrung a smile out of the woman, and remembers the slip of paper.

* * *

><p><em>Name: Unohana Retsu<em>

_Assigned Military Branch: Gotei 13_

_Assigned Division: First Division_

_Assigned Captain: __Captain __Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13_

_Assigned Position: Unseated_

* * *

><p>A giddy smile spreads across Retsu's face.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Captain-Commander muses over the profile before him. Unohana Retsu. A short kid, brown hair, blue eyes. Graduated in first position at the Academy, accelerated course, consistently outstanding marks. Impressive. The only defect he can find – and this is being picky – is a rather odd choice of chosen study. Healing is not a popular choice of talent amongst most shinigami – because in order to excel at it, patience is needed, and if not patience, then interest bordering on obsession and extreme perseverance. Patience is not a quality evident in most shinigami, and most prefer to take up extra kidō classes or something equally uninspired and on the whole, more useful.<p>

Still, she would be an asset to the First Division.

* * *

><p>To Retsu's disappointment, Kirio is not in the First Division, but in the Twelfth. Nevertheless, as she waits at her Taichou's door, she resolves to do her very best.<p>

_So cheesy. _

"Come in."

She opens the door, and bows a low, low bow to the man sitting behind the vast desk. He inclines his head in return, and beckons to her to sit. She does so. She focuses on her breathing. Her heartbeat is too fast.

"Unohana Retsu. You have an impressive record."

"Thank you, taichou."

"If I may ask, how proficient are you at healing? I understand you have been studying it for the majority of your time at the Academy, but I know it is not well taught. You were wasting your time."

Her hands shake as she hesitates to correct him. "Actually, I learned it myself, taichou. I wanted to learn, so I did some research, and I practiced."

"Practiced? On what?"

Retsu hesitates to answer again. She looks faintly embarrassed, and a tinge of pink is visible on her cheeks as she stares determinedly at her knees.

"Fish, taichou. From the kitchens." She raises her head and looks her Captain in the eye.

The Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13 blinks.

* * *

><p>She feels like a rookie Academy student again, straight from the streets of Rukongai. The feeling is unsettlingly familiar.<p>

"You've not yet learned the name of your zanpakutō? No matter – you will still train every day in the grounds, alongside other unseated and seated officers. You will check the staff rotas every day, and complete whichever jobs are allocated to you, whether they are patrols or coffee runs. You will of course be paid, and you will have a small apartment just outside the grounds, which will be yours for two years, after which you must either buy it, if you wish to live there, or move out and find your own accommodation. You will be eligible for pay increases, should your ability or rank increase. You will be given a month's pay in advance, in order to pay for any expenses you may have."

After reeling off more information for a small eternity, the robed shinigami hands her a large handbook, and grins.

"Welcome to the First Division."

* * *

><p>Her apartment is small, but extremely comfortable, and very soon, it is furnished exactly as Retsu likes it. Less cupboards for clothes, more bookcases. Everything is in soothing shades of blue and white, and her empty bookshelves quickly fill up. Pictures go up on the walls and exquisite flower arrangements grace the tables.<p>

Retsu actually enjoys the routine of doing laundry, cooking, baking, cleaning up. This is peaceful work - productive, useful and rather pleasant. For her, this is what it means to have a life - friends, laughter, a comfortable home that she has made entirely her own.

* * *

><p>Everyone is the First Division is very polite. Reserved. Her first day passes in a blur of paperwork, faces, names and skill assessments. She hasn't yet got her zanpakutō's name, but nobody seems to mind, and she is still trained every day in all the shinigami skills. Her healing abilities become well-known quickly, because although the First Division is not a very battle-oriented division, there is no other healer in the division, and there are quite a few injuries sustained every day while training. Mostly minor gashes and strained muscles, but nevertheless, it puts her skills to good use. She quickly matches names and faces, and soon, she is a familiar sight in the training grounds, sparring and healing in turn, starting early every day and ending just before nightfall.<p>

* * *

><p>Kirio doesn't really live close by, but it's near enough. They can still meet every other day, and have lunch together on the weekends. She's doing essentially the same things as Retsu, but slightly more paperwork, since the Twelfth Division is less battle-orientated. Over various meals, the two girls bemoan the paperwork and their lack of a shikai-ed zanpakutō, and they smile in contentment over a pot of tea.<p>

* * *

><p>Three weeks after she joins the First Division, she begins kendō training, and although the instructor tells her that he thinks she may not like it or be any good at it, she takes to it immediately. Said instructor's face is priceless, and after he laughs and apologizes for his assumptions, he explains that he doesn't get many girls who adapt to kendō so well or so quickly. Kendō is quickly incorporated into her daily training schedule, and a comfortable rhythm sets in.<p>

* * *

><p>Two months later, Retsu begins to have strange dreams that always involve a pale green colour, strange animals that can swim <em>and<em> fly – _is that even possible?_ - and her waking up feeling as if she's just done a week-long healing session. They are explained five months later, when Retsu learns the name of her zanpakutō, and gains her Shikai right in the middle of the First Division's compound.

Minazuki.

It sounds a nice enough name, but Retsu is somewhat uneasy. _Purify the flesh?_

* * *

><p>The only downside is that she is ordered to pay for the damages.<p>

Six collapsed storage sheds and the contents themselves - practice wooden swords, target boards and their stands - have been reduced to splinters by the huge, green, flying, one-eyed, manta ray-type creature that materializes out of nowhere and sends people scattering in all directions, sprinting madly to escape its massive wingspan.

It sounds like something from a bad horror novel.


	6. Chapter 6

This is a re-post of the final chapter, because the fantastic Akai-Miko picked up on some irregularities that were never meant to see the light of day. This new! chapter is dedicated to her.

Tip of the Day: Never post chapters when you are ill.

I own nothing.

* * *

><p>It is no surprise that she becomes the Lieutenant of the First Division within a mere three decades.<p>

It is no surprise that Kirio becomes Lieutenant in her own Division two years later.

It is no surprise that Retsu has to practice her Bankai training in a special area in Seireitei with the Kido Corps. If her Shikai could inflict significant structural damage, her Bankai's range is not to be sniffed at.

It _is_ a surprise when Retsu becomes the Captain of the Fourth Division another twenty-four years on. The Fourth Division has never been skilled in anything in particular, has never been in charge of anything larger than keeping the sewers of Seireitei clean, and has suffered from centuries of captains who are terrible at their jobs.

Many think it is a waste of Retsu, that the First Division will never again have such a good Lieutenant, that she won't fare well in a completely new Division - where she will have win their trust quickly. It takes centuries to build a rapport with every single member of a Division; Retsu will have to do it almost instantly.

In that respect, Kirio is luckier. She becomes the Captain of the Twelfth Division in the same year, and is of course, an instant success.

* * *

><p>Retsu's decision to specialize the Fourth Division as a medical squad is revolutionary, almost. It means that they will be one of the most important squads, they will be involved in every Shinigami activity in Seireitei and Rukongai and they will, some think, slack in their zanpakutō and kidō training.<p>

Those that support the idea – which is most people – cite Retsu as an example.

Some just can't get used to the idea of the Fourth Division – generally accepted to be a hopelessly useless squad – suddenly becoming arguably the most important in Seireitei.

Retsu privately thinks that people who can't make that mental leap shouldn't really be shinigami.

Kirio thinks the same thing, but not privately.

* * *

><p>Retsu has a few hitches in the plan to make her Division the medical squad – the biggest one being the Eleventh Division. For some reason, her subordinates turn into jellyfish in the presence of even the lowest-ranked Eleventh Division member. They just spend their time either fighting or bleeding all over her clean white floors. They seem to take her entire Division for granted!<p>

The proverbial last straw comes when their Captain, the Head Sasquatch himself, strides into her headquarters, stomps up to her and loudly demands to know where his Third Seat is in the middle of her crowded Paediatric clinic. Specifically, in the middle of a room containing about a dozen three-year-olds.

The resulting chaos is eardrum-shattering, of course, but somehow, she reins in her temper, turns to Kenpachi-taichou with a smile, and kindly insists that he has that vaccine appointment while he's here anyway. An appointment which he was supposed to have a year ago. He pales.

* * *

><p>She really has no idea how she did it, but the Eleventh Division seem to be scared of her now.<p>

Was that before or after she had a sparring match with the Head Sasquatch? She thinks it was after. She did win in the space of exactly seven and a half minutes, after all. Once she called in her kendō, it was no trouble at all, really. He's just a young brat with a big mouth and no actual sword techniques whatsoever.

Everyone else knows better. They know that the Eleventh Division feared her the moment their Captain stepped out of her Headquarters with that look of fear on his face; and that it was only after that spar that they, along with most Shinigami became downright terrified of her.

The Fourth Division throw her a party in celebration.

* * *

><p>The only people who do not seem to be afraid of her are Ukitake and Kyōraku. Everyone else already thinks they're mad, but their fearlessness in defying Retsu's check-up appointments makes more than one pair of knees knock.<p>

Of course they're mad. But, they're brilliant. Retsu has never seen such potential in two Shinigami since Kirio.

She doesn't think to count herself.

* * *

><p>Ukitake and Kyōraku are not so much younger than her – but they are products of the Captain-Commander's new Academy, which doesn't take in strays – of which she was one – mostly because it doesn't make for formalized education. As a result of the mixed ages of students, some classes were good (zanjutsu) and some were unspeakably bad (healing).<p>

She teaches Healing in the Academy herself from then on, as an Advanced class for only the best students. It is, after all, a very demanding discipline.

* * *

><p>The brats think that just because she is not that much older than them, they are entitled to miss their medical appointments.<p>

This irritates Retsu immensely.

After the first six missed appointments _each_, she pays them both a small visit.

They attend from then on with pinpoint punctuality.

* * *

><p>The Captain-Commander's Academy hasn't quite done its work correctly with these two.<p>

They've been in Gotei 13 divisions for quite some time now, but just haven't been able to advance – despite their surprising proficiency in kidō and their shikais.

Retsu thinks it is perhaps because the Captain-Commander may work on their Shikais with them, but neglects the absolute basics.

Kyōraku, in particular, refuses to believe that he is inept at handling even a simple wooden practice sword until Retsu disarms him thirty seconds. Ukitake volunteers to take her on next. Having been top of his class, it takes Retsu a full minute to disarm him. She smiles. They shrink.

Retsu is impressed that two Academy rookies managed to hold her off for so long, and after Kyōraku and Ukitake join the Eighth Division and the Thirteenth Division respectively, she takes it upon herself to train them in zanjutsu and kendō.

They are far from ideal students.

Kyōraku, the little _punk_, is too much of a procrastinator – and a womanizer – to really pay attention to the finer point of kendō technique rather than Retsu's 'assets', as he puts it, but his style is natural and amazingly refined for a rookie.

Ukitake is his mirror image. He is always polite, never inappropriate, and a generally nice person. He really doesn't need to concentrate so hard – it is affecting his performance. Retsu spends so much time easing his grip on the sword that it is a wonder she teaches him anything at all. Tension is never a good thing. But he's also ridiculously overenthusiastic about everything - sweets, literature, pranks, training, sparring, whatever; he'll get happy and bubbly and start grinning like an idiot.

Until Retsu spars with him again, whereupon he develops a gloomy mood and sulks in a corner.

For all of five minutes.

Ukitake is the one to drag Kyōraku to training - and Kyōraku is the one to drag Ukitake out.

They are lunatics, the pair of them. Mad, crazy fools.

They are truly brilliant.

* * *

><p>Ukitake and Kyōraku train under Unohana for just three years before becoming Captains themselves.<p>

They never forget the time she spent perfecting their kendō techniques - and call her 'senpai' from then on.

('Sensei' makes her feel old - old like the Captain-Commander old, white beard and wrinkles and all. Ukitake called her that once. Never again.)

* * *

><p>It is a dozen decades or so later when Kirio shows up at Retsu's door one morning and tells her that she is joining the Royal Guards. Retsu grins and invites her in for celebratory cups of coffee and a huge slice of Retsu's homemade chocolate cake. Kirio's favourite.<p>

Everyone else is mildly surprised when Kirio leaves to join the so-called 'Zero Division'. They shouldn't be. She could have beaten anyone to Hueco Mundo and back. She was just lazy when it came to sparring. She was better than most captains - including Retsu.

* * *

><p>Even Ukitake and Kyoraku, old as they are, cannot imagine the Fourth Division not being the medical centre. They have always known the Headquarters as being a place of calm, purposeful activity – and even though they know it was not always so, they still cannot imagine it as anything else. Only Retsu and Captain-Commander Yamamoto remember what it was like before it became what it is today - and even he still kicks himself for not having thought of it before she did.<p>

* * *

><p>Every Kenpachi who has come and gone has been terrified of her. She is extremely proud of this achievement.<p>

Even Zaraki Kenpachi, the current Head Sasquatch, can only spar with her for fifteen minutes before having to stop from severe blood loss.

He is also nervous around needles – particularly the large, shiny, pointy, painful ones. That helps too.

* * *

><p>Few people have seen her Bankai. Only the Captain-Commander, Kirio, and those Captains – now dead – who authorized her Bankai as sufficient for the Captaincy have seen it.<p>

She has not needed to use it for quite some time now – and this, more than anything, is proof of her skill.

For her finely honed medical skills, her fabled skill at kendō and her astronomical rise through the ranks, she is accorded the utmost respect, second only to the Captain-Commander – perhaps even eclipsing him in the eyes of female Shinigami, for whom she has set a standard and an example.

Women rarely become Captains – and those that do rarely amount to much. Most have faded out of history – and this is why Unohana Retsu's record is so exceptional and why she is incomparable to anyone else.

For the smile that can shrivel even the most brash of the all the Kenpachi to dust, she has become feared by all the Shinigami of Seireitei. Not even the Captain-Commander can refuse her check-up appointments.

For the skills that have saved the lives of a thousand Shinigami, if not more, she has become a legend in her own right.

* * *

><p><em>The End.<em>

* * *

><p>This fic was partly an exercise in a 'disinterested narrator', partly in order to see how I can create characters with minimal description, partly an extended one-shot - and partly because Unohana is an awesome character who doesn't get much credit.<p>

If you have any questions/comments - _Why is Ukitake so utterly bat-crap crazy? Why is Kirio the way she is? What the hell happened to her?_ - please do contact me through the little review feature or the PM feature.

Thank you!

_- The Babel Fish (formerly Dirigible Plum Earrings)  
><em>


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